


Roast Beef and Lemonade

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Ironstrange and Supremefamily Stories [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic, Family and Friends Cafe night, Fluff, Gen, Grocery Shopping, M/M, More Stephen and Peter Bonding, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Stephen Strange Backstory, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: When Peter invites him and Tony to come to friends and family night at May's cafe, Stephen isn't quite expecting the evening that follows...





	Roast Beef and Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for the response on the first one of these, I'm glad you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> In this house, we love and respect that fact that May Parker as a fully grown adult fully capable of raising Peter on her own.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as well! Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at this same name! I'm happy to chat anytime!

He walked to the door of Stark Tower, waiting on the scanner to read his retinas so he could unload the bags on his arms. Finally it clicked and he could push the door open with his shoulder. In his first visits to Stark Tower, he had little choice but to create portals into wherever he wanted to go: The doors had required a hand scanner, and the knobs had been too small, too fashionable for him to get a good grip. The second time that he had cost Tony a glass of bourbon by materializing in the kitchen, the man had asked why. Within thirty-six hours, the retina scanners and automatic openers had been put in place and he could now walk freely without magic.

It was of particular importance today: The refrigerator at the Sanctum had finally died. It was probably for the best, it was a Bundy Maytag that seemed to be almost as old as the building with its clunky metal handle and duct tape wrapped around the cooling line that rattled every time the door was opened for more than two minutes. Though Wong had perhaps found it in poor taste, he had christened in The Most Ancient One  after the pair spent half a day trying to repair it, using both ordinary and magical means to no avail before deciding that perhaps it had simply been its time after not even being able to google its instruction manual. Just because it was its time to die, however, did not mean that they had the means to replace it. It would take a lot of parlor tricks and side jobs to get a new one, not to mention that one of the connector cords had dry rotted and had to be replaced as well. Tony had offered to pay for a new one, and have it installed (and stocked, though he hadn’t been as explicit in that offer since he knew it might offend certain sensibilities) but Stephen was yet to take him up on it. He was wondering how much longer his pride would last, especially since now it meant that all of his perishable foods had to be stored at Stark Tower.

He rolled the bags further back down his elbows, unable to support the weight of them with his hands and stepped into the elevator, speaking the command that would carry him to the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to buy so much, but he had been in Central Park meditating and people had mistaken him for a living statue since he was wearing his full sorcerer’s outfit. When he had opened his eyes, his cloak was weighted down with nearly a hundred dollars in donations, courtesy mostly of a school group that had screamed in delight when his eyes had flickered open, thinking they had tricked him into reacting and not yet having walked away. That, combined with the cheap produce and semi-annual meat sale at the greengrocer down the street, owned by the elderly couple that had taken a liking to Stephen for whatever reason suited them and nearly always gave him a discount or snuck an extra loaf of bread or free box of donuts into his bag while he counted wrinkled bills to pay them, had him laden down with fresh food.

He stepped out of the elevator, lights flickering to life. Tony was still out then, not that it mattered at the moment, since he was simply putting away groceries. His arms throbbed in relief as the bags of chicken and bell peppers were sat on the glossy counters. It wasn’t as though he could create a portal in the middle of the street to get him here. He was just grateful that Tony had installed the retinal scanners before the refrigerator had broken. It would have been a particular kind of hell to be stranded on the street while also carrying what felt like an extra person on each arm.

He hummed an old David Bowie song as he began to lay things on the shelves, careful to keep all of his things to the same general area (except the fruit which had to go in the drawer) so as not to take up to much of Tony’s space. Not that there was much space to take up. The majority of the refrigerators contents were various kinds of beverages, ranging from scarily expensive alcohol to a half-consumed box of Capri Sun; and the rest was mostly jars of open pasta sauce, some kinds of meat that were close to expiring, and an assortment of cheese. Tony had told him to move whatever he needed to, insisting that he didn’t mind, but Stephen had touched nothing. Even now, when it would have been far easier to stack the scatterbrained man’s food into one shelf and use the rest of the space, he stacked his own items around them in a careful assortment.

He placed the last item, a carton of Hulk of Burning Fudge Ice Cream he’d bought as a special treat, turning around to put the plastic bags in the recycling when his phone started ringing. He set his phone on the counter, continuing his work, “Stephen Strange.” He said, trying to remember which of the identical cabinets held the recycling bin.

“Tony,” Was the reply, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You wanna catch dinner with me and Pete?”

He thought of the fifteen dollars he had left in his pocket, knowing that wouldn’t be enough. “I just bought groceries,” he said, walking back towards the phone. “I could cook us something here.”

“Peter says May is working at the café for friends and family night. He wants us to come,” Tony paused for a minute, and Stephen could practically feel his wheels turning. “As much as I wouldn’t mind a bit of wine and dining, we can skip the drinks. Pete says its all on the house.”

Stephen crossed his ankles. It would be nice to eat out, especially after he had been on his feet all day and did not particular feel up to the task of cooking. “Okay,” He said finally, and could hear Tony shifting through the phone speaker. “Where is this restaurant, exactly?”

“Peter’s going to send you the address. I’ll have to meet you all there, I’m not quite wrapped up here.”

“Do I have something here I can change into?” He looked down at what he was wearing, his usual sweatpants and T-shirt get-up for when he was pretending to be a normal person again. Not quite dinner-out material, at least not by his own standards.

“You left that red close-up and those jeans here, I had them cleaned,” Was the reply, nearly drowned out by a surge of noise on the other end. “Gotta go, love you.” Before he could respond, the line cut out.

He rolled his eyes affectionately. If there was one thing that Tony was, it was one the move. He stepped out of the kitchen, walking towards the bedroom, where it took only a few moments to find the clothing ensemble Tony had promised, perfectly pressed and done with the snaps that he could close with his fingers far easier than buttons. He pulled them on, glad that the jeans were nearly black in color, wondering if Tony would mind if he borrowed a jacket, perhaps the blue one he never wore, before pulling it on regardless, enjoying the fact that it smelled like the man’s expensive cologne he had finally stopped wearing so much of. It was a bit short, but it was large on Tony which is why he rarely wore it, and with it open, it was hardly noticeable.

He walked back out, hearing a rattling in the living room and assuming it was one of the many Avengers who treated the place as a sort of revolving door. The refrigerator was open when he came in, the person visiting shielded behind it as he reached for his phone, surprised to see no text from Peter. He turned to leave, deciding to at least go down to the lobby.

“Hey, Dr. Strange!” A loud cry startled him, and he whipped around to see Peter, unwrapping a slice of American cheese to eat it by itself as Stephen watched him in confusion. Peter swallowed, looking a bit sheepish. “You want some cheese?”

“No, thanks,” He broke out of his silence with a confused, slight smile at Peter. “I thought you were going to text me the address of this café.”

“Mr. Stark said you don’t like riding in cars,” Just the thought of riding in a car, even one of Tony’s high-tech-tanks-on-wheels made him shudder a bit involuntarily. He hadn’t used any kind of automobile voluntarily since his initial flight to Kamar-Taj, the only other instance of using one at all being his kidnapping aboard what Peter referred to as the "giant donut" on their way to Titan. “So, I thought that I would come get you, and you could do a little magic instead…” Peter was waving his hands in a dramatic circle which looked so ridiculous that Stephen had to hope he didn't look like that opening portals.

“I don’t think that I can open a portal into your Aunt’s restaurant.”

“Our apartment is about ten minutes up the street. We could walk from there, I thought. Maybe. If you wanted to Dr. Strange, Sir. Or we could call Happy and he could drive,” Peter was speaking his uncertainty again, talking so fast that he didn’t leave room for a response.

“Peter,” He said, and the boy stopped. They both took in a breath, Stephen trying not to sound too overwhelmed with the gesture, “What’s your address?”

Peter grinned, and in moments, they had stepped through a spinning circle into a small living room. “Awesome!” Peter exclaimed, looking around his own apartment as if it were completely new. “You want the tour?” Peter seemed so eager, that there was no way he could say no, even if there had been plausible reason to do so.

“I’m all yours.” He gestured forward, and Peter started walking and talking at the same time, pointing out each minute detail that came to mind. 

“We can start with my room. It’s a bit messy, but its mostly school stuff,” He pushed open a door to his room, which was scattered with bits and pieces of what looked like parts of mismatched attempts to construct new technologies. On the walls were what seemed to be hundreds of Stark Industries posters, some postcards that held sights from Wakanda, Avengers promo stories out of the New York Times, and the like. The walls were practically papered with all them, the desk stacked with textbooks and books detailing the basic construction of robots and discussions on the ethics of artificial intelligence. It took him second longer than it should to realize that Peter was speaking, pointing out one of the newspaper clippings. “You’re mentioned in that one. Mr. Stark has a copy saved, too, its an editorial on the necessity of the mystic arts.”

“Does Tony know that you build things?”

“Yeah,” Peter’s faced darkened a bit with a blush, “Sometimes boxes of parts show up. I know they’re from him, but he pretends not to send them. Between you and me, I think that all of the extra gears I have lying around are driving Aunt May nuts.”

Peter closed the door, and walked them down the hall where Stephen got to see the closed door of Aunt May’s bedroom, Peter’s bathroom that he had decorated to look like a chemistry lab, with a beaker shaped soap dispenser and what Stephen was nearly certain was a framed picture of Walter White. The kitchen was similar to the one at the Sanctum actually, though far more homey with the refrigerator decorated with family pictures and news clippings of Peter doing things at school or with his faux Stark Industries internship that May had collected. It seemed that decorative scrapbooking was a family trait.

“And here’s the living room, again!”

Stephen looked around, smiling at Peter who he could tell was eager to impress him.

“It’s very nice,” He nodded his head, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. A large one of Peter in what must have been his 8th grade graduation, complete with cap and gown. A framed picture of him and Tony, Peter holding a statue that Stephen vaguely remembered had been in Peter’s room. A picture of May and Peter at the beach, smiling broadly. And then, the largest picture in the room being one of three people. A very young Peter Parker, maybe four or five years old, standing between his Aunt and a man that Stephen didn’t recognize. Wedged into the corner of the frame was a picture of another man and woman holding what must have been a sleeping baby Peter, his hair the same brown as the little tuft on the baby’s head.

“That was the day that the adoption was officially legal,” Peter said, pointing to the big picture. “Aunt May says I wouldn’t open my mouth for the picture because I was missing one of my front teeth. Uncle Ben always joked that I was concentrating too hard on saying cheese to smile too big.” Stephen smiled at that, mostly at the look of innocent love that had crossed Peter’s face. “These are my parents.” He pointed to the little photo. “Mr. Stark says I look like my mom.”

“You do,” And it was true. She had the same face shape, the same happy eyes as Peter did now, looking at the picture with soft affection, even though Stephen knew it was highly improbable that he could remember his parents at all. Or that whatever memories he had were actually manufactured around fragments of genuine memory. But those words would never come out of Stephen’s mouth, he could understand the soft smile that Peter had now, looking at a picture of a memory that wouldn’t ever be his own. He had never been brave enough to look at pictures, to stomach those demons so closely. Perhaps he should consider it.

“We should go,” Peter said, glancing down at his phone, “Or Mr. Stark will beat us there.”

He ran around the room, turning out all the lights that he had clearly left on so that Stephen could portal into somewhere where he could see. “I’m working on making them into smart lights like Mr. Stark has since it’s better for the environment.” Stephen hummed in agreement, following him out into the hall as Peter stopped to lock the door behind them before turning around to lead the way to the stairs.

“Let me helps, Mrs. Clemons,” One of his neighbors, an elderly woman, was struggling with her key while holding groceries. Stephen felt a pang watching her, thinking back to his own earlier plight, but Peter took the bags from her, holding them aloft in his arms so that she could get the door open with no struggle. “I’ll be right back, Dr. Strange.” Helping people, its what Peter Parker wanted to do the most. An honest assessment it seemed, as Peter stepped back out, making sure that her lock clicked behind him as he shut the door. “Sorry,” He said brightly, charging down the hall to the stairwell.

Once they were out of the building, the streets were surprisingly quiet. It was a warm evening, with the sun just barely starting to set, and Stephen supposed that most people who were outdoors were in the parks at the moment. Peter walked in pace beside him, swiveling his head around to look at nearby buildings, birds, and whatever else caught his attention.

“You ever just want to focus on everything that’s happening instead of just one thing?” He said finally, turning his gaze up to Stephen, who dipped his head in thought. It seemed he had always had the opposite problem actually, unable to focus on anything except the immediate problem in front of him. How many harsh words had he let slip because he hadn’t realized what the other person needed in that moment? How many times had he left mistakes unacknowledged or cut someone down while he was, in reality, focusing on something else? 

“When I began studying the mystic arts, the first thing they emphasized was the need for focus.” He said in response. It was not an answer, and Peter knew it, lifting an eyebrow.

“Mr. Stark says that its my powers. But I think its more than that, really. It’s always been hard for me to focus.”

“Do you ever experience sensory overload?”

“All the time. It’s why I don’t take the subway anymore.” Peter said, and then looked away. “I’ve had some bad experiences.”

“I would be more worried if you had only had positive experiences on the subway.” Stephen answered, and Peter smiled at the quip.

“You know, Dr. Strange, you look different when you aren’t wearing all the sorcerer stuff.” Peter said, effectively and abruptly changing the subject. “Isn’t that Mr. Stark’s jacket?”

“I didn’t want to go back and change.”

“Oh,” Peter cocked his head. “Well, that makes sense. But Mr. Stark said you had been to the grocery store. Weren’t you already at home?”

“The refrigerator at the Sanctum is broken. I’m keeping groceries in Stark Tower”

Peter nodded, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in various places as he thought through the situation. “Is there a wizard rule against getting a new fridge?” He said finally, voice deathly serious.

Stephen laughed out loud, “No, Wong and I just don’t have the money at the moment, so we’re spacing out our investments.”

“Oh,” Peter blushed darkly, clearly embarrassed at having accidentally brought up money. “Our fridge broke one time and we couldn’t get a new one until Aunt May got paid again, so Mrs. Clemons used to let us come get ice every day from her freezer and we kept stuff in a cooler for a while.” He wrinkled his nose, “We had to throw out the cooler, but neither of us got e. coli or anything, so I guess it was a win.”

Stephen had all of no idea how to respond that story, so they walked in silence for a bit, taking in everything as they started to move out of the apartment residences and into the evening storefronts where people walked with grocery bags and baby carriages and holding hands with lovers as they strolled past.

“Aunt May’s real excited that you’re comin’.”

“She and Tony seem to get along quite well.”

“Yeah, she’s excited about him, too, but she’s excited to meet you.” Peter explained further, using his hands to talk, a trait that Stephen wondered if he was picking up from Tony since he had never noticed the kid doing it before. “I was trying to explain you too her, but you know…there’s a lot to tell.”

“There is?”

“You’re the guy who had the power to control all the time in the universe and was able to put me through a giant glowing circle back to New York from a planet that no humans had been to before.” Peter said, glancing over at him as if he were completely idiotic for thinking that was anything less than interesting. “And I told her you’re dating Mr. Stark. She thinks he’d be hard to nail down, so she’s impressed by you for that if nothing else.”

It was Stephen’s turn to blush a dark red. He knew that Peter knew about him and Tony, but he had not thought about the fact that Peter’s Aunt would also know about that. And that soon, probably the rest of the world would know as well. As soon as the three of them were spotted in this café eating dinner, especially, the rumor mill would begin turning. Either way, he was glad Peter kept talking and did not seem to notice his brief flush of color.

They turned a corner, a small café bustling with an incoming crowd only a little ways up. “Mr. Stark says that you don’t like to eat out, so I made sure that they could make stuff that I’ve seen you eat before.” Peter raised his fingers, “All of its organic and cruelty-free, there’s lot of vegetarian options, and the roast beef with mashed potatoes is really good.”

Stephen looked down at Peter’s face, currently focusing on his own fingers as he listed options. “Roast beef is one of my favorites, actually.”

“Really?” Peter glowed with almost smug pride at having accidentally guessed it.

“It’s one of the only things I know how to cook well.”

“But the refrigerator was full of chicken?”

“Right,” Stephen laughed a bit at himself and shook his head, “I just can’t cook it well.”

Peter let out his own laugh before rolling his shoulders in front of the door. “Aunt May said we’re up by the window.” He reached out, opening the door carefully. “After you, Sir.” He said, almost bowing to the amusement of the group sitting at the table right inside the door who gave them vaguely interested smiles.

“Thank you,’ He bowed back with a flourish, even extending his hand outward as they walked in towards a small table marked with a placard that said _May Parker_ in thin black script. He pulled out one of the seats, where he could see the city beyond it, Peter sliding into the seat next to him.

“Peter!” He heard a woman’s voice behind them and turned around to see an Italian woman approaching them in full waitress uniform, looking both excited and slightly exasperated. “You didn’t tell me you were here!”

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly, and gestured to Stephen who raised his hands in a gesture of innocence that made her laugh softly.

“May Parker,” She said, “It’s nice to meet you.” He waited for a heartbeat for her to extend a hand he would have to decline shaking, but it never came. He wondered if Peter had told her…

“Doctor Stephen Strange. It’s very nice to meet you as well.” He felt suddenly self-conscious. Most of his latest introductions were to people threatening the fabric of space, time, or interdimensional reality. Not nice Aunts of his boyfriend’s underling. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Well, thank you for accepting. Peter wasn’t sure if you had any dietary restrictions, but we can meet pretty much any needs that you have.” She pulled a drink menu out of her apron. “If you do want something stronger to drink, I recommend the Hurricane. Tastes like its straight out of New Orleans.” Peter shook his head eagerly, as if agreeing, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “There better not be a reason you know that, Peter Parker.”

“I’m trying to be supportive!” Peter exclaimed, and she reached over and pushed a bit of his hair back on his head. It was sweet, really, and Stephen couldn’t help but feel both happy to witness it and as if he were intruding.

“Speaking of support, where is Mr. Stark?”

“He’s on his way,” Stephen interjected. "Tony is rarely on time." 

“Perfect.” She said, raising her eyebrows as if agreeing, “In that case, I’ll grab you all some drinks.”

“I’ll do lemonade,” Peter said, gestured to Stephen that he should get that too.

“I’ll take the lemonade as well,” He tried to ignore the smug look on Peter’s face. “I’m sure Tony will take sweet tea if you have that.”

With a final hair ruffle, Aunt May disappeared, leaving the two of them looking at the menu. Stephen set his on the table, the thin cursive difficult to read while it was shaking, and scanned over the options. She wasn’t lying when she said they could accommodate any diet, but despite the seemingly hundreds of options, he found himself drawn back to the roast beef again and again until he finally decided on ordering it, Tony still not having arrived.

“What did you decide to eat, Dr. Strange?” Peter asked, folding his hands over his napkin in an attempt to keep from tapping them on the table. All that actually did, however, was cause him to fold and unfold them, intertwine and untwine them over and over as he looked at Stephen with slightly widened eyes.

“Roast beef,” He said, and could see the small triumph on Peter’s face.

“So, do you like to cook or something?’

“What?”

“You said you could cook roast beef. Do you like to cook?”

“Oh.” He leaned back, considering his answer. The truth was that now he had little choice but to cook and it had become an easy routine for him. Before this, before sorcery and the mystic arts, he didn’t have to cook and rarely had he felt like doing so after long shifts at the hospital. He could get good take out, expensive delivery, cuisine from all over the world without batting an eye. Why would he cook? And yet, even then, there was the draw for him, nights that he stood over his stove and turned raw things into sauces and entrees and noodles, sometimes letting them sit uneaten in the refrigerator because it wasn’t truly about the food. Those thoughts were buried deep, in parts of a past that he no longer considered to be truly a part of his life. “I suppose so.” He said finally, sensing Peter’s growing discomfort. “I used to cook for my sister.”

Donna. How long had it been since he had really thought about her? Her hair that was as dark as his, but her eyes that were even bluer, her face that looked like their mothers instead of theirs fathers like his did. He thought about it now, the nights when they would be on the farm, their mother nowhere to be found, their father somewhere on the property tending to plants or animals or just staying anywhere but where they were at that moment. He remembered the first things he had cooked for them: Grilled cheeses with not enough butter that had burned even though the cheese hadn’t melted. He remembered checking out a cookbook at the library, carrying it home in his backpack from school, and trying to make the things inside match the pictures. They never did. But they tasted good, sweet or salty or sour when he finally figured out enough of what he was doing.

And her favorite was roast beef. If he made a roast beef, carefully picked out when meat was on sale, they could eat on it for a week, even if their father would eat on it while they were out. And she would laugh at the gravy because she was a child and he would laugh with her because she made him happy.

“You have a sister?”

“I did. Her name was Donna.”

Peter looked away sharply, clearly thinking he had walked into something accidentally. “Oh,” He said, “What---What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

He didn’t mind Peter’s asking, though the kid’s timing was impeccably bad as his Aunt arrived with their cups, tsking at the fact that Tony still hadn’t arrived. The rest of the people were arriving however, and she went off to help a woman whose entire family had come, it seemed, including several very loud children in need of cups with lids.

“She died when she was quite young from a stroke,” He finally answered, and watched as Peter nodded his head, processing the information, taking a long drag of the lemonade which Stephen had to admit was perfectly delicious and an excellent choice. “She’s one of the main reasons I became a doctor.”

“What kind of doctor were—are you?” He quickly corrected himself, taking another drink to hide the mistake.

“I was a neurosurgeon.”

“Wow,” Peter said, and his eyes widened. Stephen didn’t miss the quick glance down at his hands, followed by the look of realization that had come across Peter’s face. The shadow that fell over his features as everything fell into place. “Mr. Stark didn’t tell me that.”

“Speak of the devil,” Stephen pointed out the window where a familiar car and flustered Avenger were located.

“Aunt May will be happy,” Peter said, smile plastered on his face, the same smile he got every time he looked at Tony. But instead of waiting on him to come inside, he turned back to Stephen.

“What made you become a sorcerer?”

“What?”

“Well,” And he was using his hands to talk again, “If your sister helped you figure out you wanted to be a doctor. What made you want to be a sorcerer?”

“I—” He looked at Peter’s eager face and thought of all the reasons. His hands were the first thought, but that was a life. He could channel magic into them, have his old life back. The Ancient One, but that, too, was a lie. He had cared about her, looked up to her, but not even her words had been enough to convince him to stay. There was a draw to the power, to the people, to the idea of constantly learning, of being the best. But those were base reasons, shallow at best. And they felt so wrong to him he couldn’t say them. “I wanted to help people.”

Peter grinned, eyes shining. “I knew it,” He said in such a quiet voice it disappeared as the entire restaurant reacted to Tony Stark walking in and giving May Parker a hug. Stephen smiled too, wondering what all Peter must think of him.

Three roast beef entrees and trips to multiple homes later, while watching Tony tinker with a gadget designed to be the latest improvement to Peter’s suit, he almost asked him. But something held him back, fear maybe, or a suspicion that the conversations that he and Peter were having had not been translated to Tony. He thought, not particularly sure why, that perhaps they were just between them. It was a nice thought, punctuated by Tony’s beginning to tell him about the machinations of his latest work, holding it up proudly. And he let the worry slip away, happy to have been able to share the moment.


End file.
